The New Year
by The Revenge of DarkSkittyPower
Summary: 15 January 2012, 6:43 PM: The deed is done. Sherlock Holmes is dead.


15 January 2012

6:43 PM

The deed is done. Sherlock Holmes is dead.

16 January 2012

8:12 AM

It's barely been 12 hours since the incident. I traveled through the night to a small village in Scotland. A heavy feeling has settled in my chest, almost a if there is a deep pit. I do not understand it yet. Is it due to poor health? Pray I do not fall ill.

16 January 2012

2:06 PM

I have successfully obtained new clothing and have already rented a room. The family is kind and welcoming, and I am comfortable.

17 January 2012

3:00 PM

Now that all necessary living conditions are covered, I must find some way to return to work. But how?

19 January 2012

8:44 PM

The past days have been dreadfully boring. I have not been involved in any crime investigations due to the fact that there are none. I truly am nothing without Moriarty.

19 January 2012

8:46 PM

Correction: The world around me is nothing without Moriarty.

23 January 2012

7:33 AM

Went on a morning stroll. I nearly lost these records when the phone fell from my pocket. Realising the device was gone, I had to retrace my steps back to where it had landed. Pity, this is the most intellectually challenging that has happened to me in days.

24 January 2012

9:00 PM

Today was the funeral of Sherlock Holmes. I did not partake, obviously, but the family I am lodging with invited me to watch the ceremony on the telly. It was the first time I had made social contact with them. Their child- a young girl- was very downcast throughout the live program. I was thoroughly confused as to why, but I kept my mouth shut.

There were a few glimpses of my brother and mother, along with other familiar faces. Lestrade, John, Ms. Hudson, Donovan, Anderson, and Molly were all at the service, along with many clients I had helped.

The funeral ended and I rose to exit, but the daughter sat me back down. "Don't go yet, they're going to interview people significant to Mr. Holmes' life," she had explained. Sure enough, a miniature documentary began to play. It was painfully long and dreadfully boring.

After it was over, I receded to the shelter of my room.

25 January 2012

3:52 AM

John was limping at the funeral.

25 January 2012

5:01 PM

Somebody nearly recognised me today. She stared at me as I leafed through a few different magazines at the bookstore. She was about to comment, but I fooled her rational thoughts by harpooning my own dignity... I had to take a top-shelf magazine, leaf through it... Disgusting, but effective. I could almost hear the gears in her mind screeching, "Of course it's not Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes does not read such revolting material. And he is dead."

28 January 2012

7:52 PM

This evening, the family-the Sanders-invited me to have dinner with them.

Janette Sanders is the young girl. I couldn't care less about her mother and father... The two, though kind, are just like anyone else: Bland, daft, and simple-minded.

Janette has a little potential, just as all children do, and she definitely utilises it. I know she has Ideas revolving around topics such as that I'm not who I say I am, that I'm supposed to be dead, that I'm not a fraud and more. She is very much a suspicious being, and I respect that.

Over the meal, Janette asked me if I believed in Sherlock Holmes.

"I don't know," I had stated simply, trying hard not to stray from the character I had locked myself in.

She looked at me incredulously, then gave her input. "I don't think he was a genius," she explained, "But he definitely was incredibly analytical, and I support the Idea that he was a true detective."

"Why wasn't he a genius, since he's so smart?" I felt the words fall from my mouth in a painful stream of stupidity. I could hardly bear hearing such hideous grammar from another, but speaking their foolish language threw me into a new world of pain.

"Correct your sentence," the girl ordered flatly.

I swallowed, mentally blessing the existence of somewhat bright human beings such as her. "You say he wasn't a genius. What makes you insist he is lower than that title?"

A smile graced her features, and I realised I had shown too much of myself. "Sure, he may have had a near infinite amount of information stored away in his mind," Janette answered, "But his social communication skills were rough on the edges, and emotional understanding in himself and his compeers was nonexistent."

"How do you know that? You've never met him, have you?" As soon as I said it, I knew how foolishly revealing the almost-accusation was.

The young girl stared, her gaze screaming "Oh my god, I'm not an idiot. Have I not made that clear?" She sighed slightly, responding with "He's stated he was a sociopath, a high-functioning one, but I think he's simply blind to... Reality, if I may."

A loud silence followed, filled with the unnoticeably natural chink of silverware hitting plates. Eventually, I stood, cleared my place, and thanked the adults for the meal.

29 January 2012

1:23 PM

The weight in my chest is persistent. I bought cough medicine, but I don't think it's what I need.

29 January 2012

4:18 PM

The Sanders daughter apologised to me for being a bit attacking or cruel at dinner yesterday. I told her it was perfectly fine, but she still seemed a bit ashamed of herself.

31 January 2012

11:09 PM

Janette and I are watching the digital clock rested atop her shelf. She invited me to witness a 'spectacular event,' as she calls it. I've decided to humour her.

The girl knows I'm Sherlock Holmes, but she has not told a soul. I am both grateful towards and confused by her actions, or lack thereof.

The time has reached 11:11 PM. Janette has taken her digital clock and flipped it over, but there is no difference. The time is symmetrical.

She says the next part is the real kicker. We've just got to wait.

Soon enough, the time moves along, but the clock looks odd. 11:12 is very different from 11:11, due to the simple fact that once flipped over it reads 21:11.

She says her friends at school think 11:11 is the only one that can be turned upside-down to create the same time, but she knows two others that have the same properties.

I'd like to see, I responded.

She requests to use this device as a reference so when she's done she can set the machine back to it's normal hour.

31 January 2012

11:29

The other rotatable times are 10:01 and 12:21, just as I suspected. After her demonstration, Miss Sanders asks, "Suppose I had a digital watch that showed me army time. How many other upside-downable times would there be?"

"Three new ones; 20:02, 21:12, and 15:51," I answered after running the numbers, "And did you really just say upside-downable?"

"I'm a child. That means I can say childish things."

"Being a child also means you have school in the morning, and you need sleep."

"Do I have to?"

"Most of the idiots of the world are chronically sleep-deprived."

"Goodnight!" She tossed the blankets over her head.

I turned the light off, taking the handle of the door to close it.

"Wait..." She stopped me.

"Something wrong?"

"Yesterday, at dinner, I had said that Sherlock Holmes had no intellectual grasp on anything emotional. I know now that I was wrong... He has a little bit. Just a tiny amount."

"What made you change your mind?" I was a bit baffled, as I had not shown any compassion towards Janette, but merely the occasional spark of interest.

"Your phone password is 5646. That spells John."

"...Goodnight, Janette."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."


End file.
